


One Night Stand

by beyondinsane



Category: Law & Order: UK
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-18
Updated: 2009-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-06 15:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyondinsane/pseuds/beyondinsane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt allows himself to be seduced by the niece of a murder suspect who has been sent to kill him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night Stand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bamberrific](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Bamberrific).



He feels her eyes on him from across the room, and Devlin wonders idly what she's after. Does she want him for him, or does she recognise him, DS Matt Devlin? She could be just another woman, or she could be a modern day femme fatale on a mission from Armahd Khalil. Devlin never stops working; sees danger everywhere, everywhere and that is why he's still alive. Six months now, hot on the trail of the biggest narcotics agent in London. Yeah, narcotics should be handling it - would be handling it - if it weren't for the murders. Ten of them, the drug runners cutting a bloody swath through the town. His town. Six months he's lived for the thrill of the chase, knowing that one day soon he'll get to the bottom of this mess. Doesn't know what he'll do then. There will always be other messes.

Devlin gets up from the bar and catches her eyes. She's dark skinned and almond-eyed, like something from out of a god-damn dream. A slow smile spreads across her face. She knows him alright, he can taste the recognition in her glance. He crosses the room and notices her watching his movements, like a cat watching its prey before the pounce.

Not this time, sweetheart

She's holding a pool cue, leaning over the table and making sure that he sees just enough of her breasts beneath the purple top. He does, of course, and feels a fire well up within him that has nothing to do with the thrill of the chase. Not that kind of chase, anyway. He reaches her, comes up from behind her because she let him.

"Fatima" She says, straightening up after sinking a shot. The voice matches the body, exotic and soft.

"Khalil" The name is a sneer on his lips and he scowls even deeper when she laughs.

"Funny name for someone with such blue eyes." She makes a dismissive gesture, and he knows it's not for him. The two big guys in the corner are watching, Devlin can feel their hatred and only this woman, this Fatima holds them at bay. They are here to make sure the trap is sprung.

"You know what I mean." He says, raising his eyes to the front door.

The smile fades from her face, and she looks hesitantly from the back door to the men standing guard over her. Clearly the front door was not the plan.

"This bar is crowded, Dev." She uses his name though he hasn't told it to her, and her accent washes over his ears like some forgotten shore. Her hand is on his arm. How long's it been, anyway? Too much work and no play...

There's fear in her face then, and Matt wonders how much she's being paid to lure him to the back alley, to let him take her hard and deep against the brick wall until someone comes to end him. Fuck, it'd almost be worth it. But then who would solve his murder? No one even knew he was here. Not like Ronnie ever joined him for a drink. Not like he ever asked.

"We could go somewhere else." He says, looking at the front door again and measuring the steps from the pool table to the entrance. "My car is just out front." He voice has lost its predatory edge, it's soothing now, comforting. She's frightened, after all. Maybe she wasn't send on a mission to kill him. Maybe she's trying to run away. Maybe she has information. He looks her over as she moves around him, angling for another shot. Her purse is small - too small for a weapon, but he can see the hilt of a knife beneath the fabric of her shirt. Maybe she was trying to kill him after all.

She sinks the shot, not that it matters, and hands her cue to one of her burly friends standing in the shadows. Smatterings of a language he doesn't understand don't sound very pleasant, but she picks up her purse and lays her hand on his arm again. Twenty paces to the door, and Matt can feel eyes burning into the back of his head. Ten paces to his Vectra and all he can feel is her hand as it slides down his arm to entwine with his own.

They don't say a word until the seat belts are fastened.

"You his daughter?"

"Niece. The two in the bar are my brothers. They'll be following us in a blue Prius. Devlin chuckled at the idea of the two huge men packed into the compact car.

"What's this about?"

"I'm supposed to warn you off if I can." She says, knowing full well she won't be able to dissuade him. "Kill you if I can't." Fatima adds this without him asking, responding to his raised eyebrow and heavy foot on the gas.

"Where to?" He asks, face grimly dissatisfied. Why can't I ever meet a nice girl?

"Don't know." The fear again; her voice wobbles. "I haven't done my job, have I?"

Devlin sighs knowing that the tears are about to come. She's either very sad or very good. Maybe both.

"The way I see it we've got three options. "I can outrun your brothers and we get out of town, far as the Motoway will take us. On the way you talk and I keep you safe after that. Two, you can try and kill me." He looks at her legs, long and perfect in his passenger seat. Oh, option three. He shakes his head to clear the thought.

"What's option three?" Her hand is on his leg and she's reading his mind.

"You're going to kill me either way, aren't you?" He closes his eyes for a moment before speeding up his car yet again, so fast that the speed cameras won't even register him. Or so he hopes.

"I was supposed to seduce you." She confesses, voice still small and scared now that he's taken the decision from her. He checks the mirror - no sign of the Prius, but that could have been a ruse. This could all be a ruse.

"Aren't you?" He grumbles as her hand slips further down his thigh.

"I think it's the opposite." She admits. "What woman could kill you, Matt Devlin?"

He sniffs, unused to compliments and not really believing her anyway.

"I didn't choose a life of crime. I was born into it."

"I'm not here to judge you." He says, thinking of those that would.

"That's not why I said it. I said it because when I saw you, I thought maybe I could be something else." She was stroking his inner thigh now, and Matt found didn't care about the knife she had tucked in her clothing.

"Like what?" His eye lids were heavy now, and he barely registers his own motion as he flicks the indicator on and merges left onto the off-ramp. Where were they? It didn't matter.

"I thought I could be good." She mumbles, running her hands (at last) along the more-noticeable-by-the-second bulge in his trousers. He pulls into the first drive way he can find - a dodgy motel along side the Motorway. It will do, not that they will make it inside.

"You thought wrong." He crushes his mouth to hers, meeting her soft, full lips with his seven'o'clock shadow. Seat belts are no longer necessary, and Devlin removes his, groaning at the few moments distance. He is hard, harder than hell and it doesn't matter that this is possibly the grand champion of bad ideas. It doesn't even matter than he and Ronnie won't talk about it, just like they never talk about anything that matters. All that matters is the blood pounding through his veins and her hands around his back as he leans over the center console and onto her body as she reclines the seat. It isn't enough.

She gets the same idea, and the doors are open and shut before he can count. The meet in the middle, and he has her pressed against the still hot-hood of his car, just outside the light from the streetlamp above. As a precaution, he reaches for the knife he knows is concealed in the hollow of her back, just above the waistband of her pants.

It's not there.

His blood runs cold as he feels the tip, cold and sharp against the skin of his back.

"I could do it." She says, and he knows it's true. Knows the knife is just above his kidney, knows he'd probably survive but for how long. He can't help but grin back at her, her smile of victory contagious because he has her matched, point for point. He presses hard against her, knowing she lives like he does, for the thrill of it. Knowing that as much as she wants to kill him, she wants him alive more. The knife falls from her hands and she kisses him again, her mouth open and yielding as she parts her legs. He's as out of his pants as he's likely to get out in the open and she clothes the rest of him, forgetting their enmity.

"Are you gonna talk?" He groans, thrusting into her hard and fast as she writhes eager in the yellow light.

"Is this an interrogation?"

"Might as well, while I have your attention."

"Interesting technique." Her voice has lost it's velvet, and it's jubilant instead. Sbe sings like a sparrow, a happy confessor eager for her penance. Not like it matters. This is hardly an acceptable method of evidence gathering. But it puts him on the right track, and DS Devlin never stops working. He can see it now, the pieces of the puzzle, coming together like lovers - no, like he and Fatima. Not lovers, just people that need to live life fast. Two sides of the same coin. It's a whole lot like justice.

Matt bites his lips as he comes, already feeling her flutter and sigh around him. The car has cooled now but their skin hasn't, the October air brisk. She shivers, but it's not from the breeze. It's the look in his eyes, the calculating stare. It's the knowing that she gave up everything to get him between her legs. Look at him. Who wouldn't 

"Where to?" He asks again, now that business is concluded he's all business again.

"The way I see it we have two options." She pauses, picking up the knife and replacing it in its sheath. "You keep driving North and I make your investigation a lot easier. Two, you leave me here and I call for a lift." And three, oh option three. She watches him button his shirt, cover the gleaming St. Christopher from the yellow light.

He steps towards her again, taking her face in his hands.

"Option three."

It isn't a question. The motel sign flickers "Vacancy" and they're both glad of it.


End file.
